Bound by Nightmares
by Mable
Summary: Eight has a nightmare about Six which leads him on a quest to get the other to sleep, eventually ending them both in Eight's bed together. 6x8 Oneshot


**Mable: I request fic for 'Whose-Responsible-This' on Tumblr; I hope I put together what you wanted. To anyone who doesn't know, I am on Tumblr under 'Mable-Stitchpunk', but I still post all of my work here on Fanfiction. But if you don't have an account here then you can always message me there if you would like. Anyway, I don't own 9, Enjoy!**

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_**Bound by Nightmares**_

"_Eight, wait!" Six's soft voice cried out in horror as his newest drawing was lifted off of the ground and into the air above his head. The striped and ink stained doll stumbled to his feet and stared upwards at his tormentor that towered above with his usual smirk. Another attack by the Guard, a common occurrence, and Eight was clearly ready to have his fun taunting the smaller. "Let me guess," He muttered as he glanced at the scribbled drawing, "The 'source' again?" The smaller looked embarrassed and what almost looked like a soft pout appeared on his face._

_Then the Artist decided to lunge forward towards the drawing only to have it yanked too high to reach. He released what was nearly a whimper, "Please- it's not finished." Eight decided to point out his own facts, "None of 'em are finished. You ditch one halfway and begin another one." Then smirked wider, "They still look all the same, you know? Just copying yourself because you can't come up with something better?" He loved trying to rile Six because he knew no matter how far he went he'd never go too far._

_Unlike Nine, who would eventually get fed up, and Five, who was under Two's apprenticeship and thus under One's protection, Six never fought back. He never had any more of a reaction than hopping about begging for his drawings back. Even now he was jumping for it and Eight was more than happy to keep yanking the drawing higher again and again. Just watching Six so desperate, so attentive, made Eight feel like he achieved success. It couldn't get any better than this, though Eight doubted he actually would give the drawing back afterwards. He probably would tear it up or something._

_That was, he had planned to until what happened next. Suddenly Six stopped jumping upwards and simply stood there, staring ahead at Eight, and the Guard raised a brow. He quickly realized Six's gaze wasn't focused on him and instead seemed to go into nothingness. Then watched as pen tipped hands clutched at his chest. "Six?" Eight noticed that something was wrong and, as such, decided not to throw his other names for him at him. Then, just as suddenly as before, Six started to stumble a bit before looking upwards at the Guard. _

"_E-Eight." He choked out before suddenly he collapsed to his knees. He clutched his chest harder and began to pant, desperately trying to get a breath of air in. Eight started to become actually concerned, "What the-?!" Six was slowly beginning to collapse to the ground and Eight immediately kneeled down beside him, grabbing the other before he could slump anymore. The Artist was having clear trouble breathing and started to slow in doing so. His chest then failed to rise at all._

_Eight stared in horror at the small male laying before him, his hands being the only thing keeping him up. Mismatched optics fluttered before falling shut and his head dropped to the side. "Six?" Eight asked. "Six, come on, stop it." The other didn't move a muscle. "Yeah, I get it, you want your drawing back so you're pulling this." He nearly dropped the smaller out of annoyance, to attempt to drop this act, but instead waited and watched as the 'act' continued on. _

"_What have you done?!" One's voice suddenly echoed out from nearby and Eight's head flipped upwards to see him in the entranceway to the hall. The others were there as well, all staring, and Five came forward to check Six. "I didn't do anything!" Eight protested in dread, "He just fell over!" He insisted until Five suddenly gasped, "He's dead!" Eight's head now shifted to Five, "What?" The Healer was obviously distraught, "He's dead! You killed him!" Now the others were speaking as well, either crying, or screaming, or accusing Eight of killing Six. _

_Eight meanwhile insisted, "He ain't dead! He just passed out!" He looked to Six's face, "Come on, get up!" He insisted, shaking the small body, "Six! Six, get up! You can't just- this doesn't-!" One's voice was echoing in his audio receptors as he stared down at Six's empty face. No form of life remaining in his frame, "He's gone, Eight, and it is your fault. You killed him." Eight felt his breath quicken and then-._

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Eight hit the ground with a loud 'thump', tangled in blankets and confused. He managed to tug the portion wrapped around his head down and sat up on the floor. His pulse was racing, he was panting, and he tried to figure out what had just happened. Then it finally occurred to him what had happened; he had just awoken from a nightmare. He collapsed back against the wall and rubbed over his head, "Creator." He muttered under his breath before pulling the blankets free from their hold on him.

He threw them lazily back over the bed before dropping on top of them before staring at the ceiling above. Eight couldn't remember the last time he had a nightmare, let alone dream about Six of all Stitchpunks. He groaned as he continued to rub his head. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the nightmare had certainly taken a toll on him, maybe because it was the first time he had actually faced real death since the Machine Incident. _"Just in case I didn't put enough salt in that wound." _Eight thought to himself.

The Machine Incident was still a tender subject that none of the Stitchpunks had actually moved past. It was a serious awakening that revealed how unsafe they really were in their world. New precautions were made after that, they moved into a Sanctuary in the Library, and so far life had been going fine. Now there was this nightmare, and what confused Eight the most was its content. Naturally he should have been worried for his leader, but One wasn't the one dying in the dream, it was Six.

Only for a second did Eight let his mind brush the fact that maybe he felt bad for bullying Six, but then smothered the thought immediately. "_I'm not feeling bad when I'm doing it so I wouldn't be feeling guilty when I'm sleeping. The dream was just a dream." _He pointed out before his mind took a sudden sharp turn in a different direction, _"He's probably still up…" _Before he fully realized it, he was getting back up out of bed and heading to the doorway, pushing open the curtain.

Outside of his room was a circular shaped room that led into most of the other's bedrooms. It was built into the back of the Library and he scanned the other curtains for any signs of light. He could clearly see that one still had a light shining through it. Eight knew whose room it was immediately; Six's. "_What's he still doing up?" _He questioned before bluntly striding over to the doorway to figure it out. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now anyway with his nightmare and now being wide awake in the dead of night.

He pushed open the curtain and stared into the bedroom beyond it. As usual, Six was on his hands and knees scribbling on a piece of paper, staring at it intently. From what Eight saw it hadn't yet taken a definite form and he approached, "Hey." He didn't feel as though he wanted to really give him a name and felt too uncomfortable to call him by his real name. The artist sat straight upwards and his head spun back to stare straight at the Guard in the doorway. "Eight?" he asked cautiously, his voice wavering, not expecting to see the taller male here this late.

Eight was quick and to the point, "What are you doing up? It's the middle of the night." He knew what Six was doing up, but still felt the need to ask even though all of the Stitchpunks were well aware that Six barely slept at night. The Artist seemed still reeling from the fact that the Guard was in here at the hour he was, "I… Drawing. Just drawing." He pointed to the drawing before him and Eight pointed out in return, "Why aren't you sleeping?" The striped one shrugged a bit and eyed the drawing once again. "I can't. Have to draw."

Then he reached forward and made another stroke across the paper with his right index finger. As he watched the mark appear he softly hummed to himself in obvious interest. He looked so intense in that moment. Sometimes Eight witnessed these occasions when Six would get enthralled in his work; Sometimes he would pace the room with his hands folded behind his back, staring at the empty page as though it was to be war plans, and would scrutinize it with a gaze that rivalled One's. That was when Eight realized he was bluntly staring at Six and passed it off as him simply still being tired.

He huffed a bit as he put together exactly how much time that was being wasted that they could be using for sleep. "You need to get to bed." Eight insisted; after the nightmare he was a little paranoid and didn't want it to turn into an omen. Surprisingly, Six decided that he wasn't feeling particularly threatened by Eight at the moment and decided to bluntly shoot down Eight's offer. "I can't. Have to draw. I'll sleep later." Since the Incident Six was slightly more social and talkative, but was never social when it involved Eight, and usually stayed quiet and agreeable.

Which either meant that Six suddenly forgot who Eight was or that he was getting on the verge of being too tired to think straight. "No, you're going to bed." Eight crossed his arms as he stated it clearly. He was tired himself, but had a feeling that his body wouldn't let him sleep unless he knew that the Artist was secure. Less tomorrow the dream come into reality somehow. The Artist looked to him with a look of absolute mortification, perhaps because he believed that he had to draw and that not doing so would do some terrible consequences.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds without words before Six meekly spoke, "But I… I have to draw." Eight retorted once again, "No, you need to sleep. When was the last time you slept?" The way the other let his optics roll to the side in thought proved that he couldn't remember the last time he did so, even though it was probably only a few days. Finally Eight started to stride forward with a clearly stern look on his face. The small Artist stared upwards at him, not standing, and Eight decided that the other was not going to be compliant.

The next thing that Six knew he was abruptly being lifted and was suddenly sprawled over Eight's shoulder. The smaller gasped at the motion and stared back at Eight. He was trying to say something through soft sounds of alarms and clear stutters. Normally Eight would be more than thrilled to get an actual reaction out of Six as he usually didn't react much to any of Eight's actions, but he was now on some sort of mission to make sure that the smaller got some sleep, even if that meant carrying the smaller over his shoulder like a bag of stones. Not that Six was anywhere near heavy compared to Eight's strength.

It just seemed easier to drag Six along than trying to convince him to get in bed willingly. Six suddenly noticed though that they were leaving his room and his hands clutched on Eight's back, "Where are we going?" He asked quietly, perhaps a bit worriedly. "Over to my room." Eight spoke, "You'll just get out of bed and start drawing again if I don't watch you." Six stared at the back of Eight's head, trying to figure out why Eight was doing this, and eventually just gave in and went limp against the male, ink stained hands leaving small trails of black on the larger's back.

Eight tried to ignore the fact that Six was barely, just barely, burying his face into his shoulder in a surprisingly endearing fashion, though Eight wouldn't outright admit that it was endearing in any way. He soon passed into his room and back into the comfortable darkness. To be fair, it was not in the best condition and Eight had more weapons on the floor than anywhere else, but it was good enough. The Guard arrived at the bed and planned to let Six drop onto it, when he abruptly changed his mind and caught the small frame once again with a hand upon his back.

Suddenly a rush of memories from the nightmare returned and he began to grow very paranoid. Six could be fragile and Eight knew he had to be more careful from now on. During bullying, while in the Emptiness, no matter what he had to be more careful. Eight now slowly lowered him down onto the bed instead while the small Artist stared up at him with an innocent look that the larger clearly tried not to meet the gaze of. He then pulled back and headed around the bed once again to what he was assuming was his side.

His gait hesitated as he realized that he was going to be sharing a bed with Six for the night. It was a jarring realization and he exhaled a bit at the thought; At least Six would be safe and he would be able to sleep. He shook the thought away and sat down on the other side of the bed. He didn't feel ready to lay down yet and instead simply sat there, waiting for his body to get tired enough that he would lay down by the smaller who he was only guarding out of obligation to his paranoia. He could hear Six turn over on the bed behind him.

Glancing back he could see that the Artist was curling into the blankets on his side, pulling them around his body in an awkward display. His fingers were also staining the blankets with ink but that was the last thing Eight could notice as his pulse slowly began to rise. Six was beyond fragile; he was small, his fabric was too soft to be very strong, and Eight suddenly wanted to feel it. "Eight," Six started again as he now looked upwards at the Guard who managed to pull away from the previous thoughts, "Why are we here?"

Since the question was vague, Eight gave a vague answer, "I don't know." Then Six huffed; Eight had never actually heard Six make a noise of exasperation before and was now starting to wonder if he misjudged exactly how long ago the Artist had slept. "No, why did you bring me here?" Six repeated and Eight, unfortunately, had a slip of the tongue. "I had a nightmare." Six's optics widened at the admission and Eight tried to save the situation, "I thought it was like one of yours. Going to really happen or something."

"What was it about?" Six suddenly asked with clear interest. To this point, none of the other Stitchpunks mentioned nightmares around Six, as though it would frighten him. Instead it had only accomplished in alienating him a bit more. Eight pondered telling him more and decided that he was in the perfect situation where he could blow it off tomorrow; saying that Six was dreaming or Eight was sleep deprived, so he spoke. "It was about you." Six looked even more shocked and Eight finished, "You died."

A weird silence overtook the room before Eight questioned, "You're not… Sick or anything, right?" The Artist innocently shook his head, "I… No. Don't think so." This caused Eight to feel a little better about the entire situation, "Good." Then he started to actually lay down, "Get to sleep. I'm not going to get yelled at by the Boss because I kept you up." He pulled some blanket over, clearly tried to ignore Six, and closed his optics to go to sleep. Six wasn't ready to sleep yet, apparently, because he whispered, "Eight?"

"Go to sleep." Eight commanded and the other started to move under the blankets as the other had, "I will, but… But can I ask you something?" The Guard groaned as though he had just been awaken even though he had just been speaking, "Hurry up, okay?" The Artist nodded, "I will. I just…" He fiddled with his key a bit before asking, "You were… Were you upset that I died?" This seemed to take Eight aback, "What do you mean by that?" Six sputtered a bit, "I-I wasn't trying to say- trying to say that you…"

Eight sat up and faced Six bluntly, the little Artist clearly cringing, "Look, I know I'm not exactly good to you, but you can't really be thinking that I want you dead." He pointed out and the small one looked up at him with his wide, mismatched optics. His voice was soft as he answered, "I can't tell." Eight had to admit that if Six was purposely trying to manipulate him and stab him in the center verbally then he was doing an excellent job. "Six, I don't hate you, and I don't want you dead."

Six decided to take this without asking more, like why Eight ruthlessly bullied him, and instead felt a warmth inside from Eight bluntly saying that he didn't hate him. "Okay." He responded softly and smiled a bit before laying back on the pillow. He tried to stay as still and as far on his side as possible to not bother the other into spontaneously hating him like he originally thought. Eight watched him for a while before laying back down against the pillows beneath him. His optics didn't leave Six's frame; his mind wandering back to his nightmare once again.

He had been completely honest with Six, he didn't hate him, and that made him suddenly question this entire thing once again. Maybe he had been being a bit hard on Six for a while and maybe that was what the nightmare was trying to say. His body wanted to react differently to what any thought of his would even think of doing. Six didn't expect it at all when Eight suddenly reached around him and pulled him close. In fact, he clearly gasped in surprise, and looked back at the Guard who said nothing for an explanation.

He merely held the other close; he could take comfort in the fact that Six wasn't dying anytime soon, especially not because of anything he had done. Six, meanwhile, wasn't very used to be touched, but seemed to very quickly learn to enjoy it. It was so warm, especially for Eight. Of course Six hadn't ever bluntly mentioned to anyone how warm he would start feeling around Eight. That warmth now was circulating through his entire being fully. For the first time in his entire life he actually felt like he could truly sleep comfortably. His optics slowly flickered shut as his arms wrapped around the arm around him.

Eight exhaled at how accepting Six was to be help and simply tried to get back to sleep.

Needless to say, there were no more nightmares for either for the rest of the night.

_**FIN**_

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**Mable: I'm afraid I didn't do it well enough… I was trying as hard as possible, but it didn't end up as well as I wanted it to be… I'm going to do another one, another 6x8 fic, but I hope everyone enjoyed this one still!**


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